


Class A Equipment

by coltsbane



Category: Newsflesh Trilogy - Mira Grant
Genre: Gen, Siblings, Zombies, braaaaains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 20:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coltsbane/pseuds/coltsbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The inside of our van is a testament to what you can do with a lot of time, a reasonable amount of money, and three years of night classes in electronics." Georgia remembers what the van was like before the fancy wiring and what it meant for her and Shaun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Class A Equipment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Severuslovesme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severuslovesme/gifts).



> This occurs post-Feed, but pre-Deadline (to be released May 2011! Hooray!). Thanks to Sharron and Emily for betaing!

  
_I guess in the end, it doesn't matter what we wanted. What matters is what we chose to do with the things we had._

\- GEORGIA MASON

The rain was coming down outside like it had nothing left to lose. The sound of it was loud enough that no one in their right mind would be outside unless they had to be. It was hard to keep zombies at a safe distance when it was raining so hard that you couldn’t see or hear them until they were moaning sweet nothings in your ear. We were staying in. I was going to bed. Food, the site and anything other than my pillow became insignificant.

"Hey, George. How about a bedtime story?"

***

Sleeping was difficult when there was a regular thudding noise right near your head. The undead mob separated from you by only the wall of a van added to the atmosphere. This wasn't the first time Shaun and I had slept through an outbreak. With our parents, waiting until the zombies found a better food source or forgot what they were doing was practically a family tradition. I stared at the ceiling of the van, wondering if it was worth getting up and checking in with Buffy. She was the other part of our team, but she didn't have a field license. No field license meant no field trips, so Shaun and I were testing the van on our own. Shaun was sleeping soundly, and by soundly I mean snoring loud enough to keep the zombies' attention on us for a few more hours. The noise made the decision for me. Sleep wasn't going to come, and I'd rather stare into the dark and relax my aching eyes than get into another discussion about why Shaun couldn't leave the van. He knew what was out there. That was the point. He was an Irwin and poking zombies was what Irwins did best. That and this not being his first intentional trip into infected territory meant that he was in a deep sleep despite the threat outside.

In order to understand our current predicament, it's necessary to understand how two eighteen year olds came to be given a fully equipped vehicle capable of withstanding a full-fledged attack by the shambling masses that used to answer to names like Gregory, Francis and Patricia.

"Class A license means Class A equipment," Dad said, patting the side of the van. He smiled for the cameras as the mainstream media devoured the sight and story of the Masons welcoming their children to the adult world of media. This was nothing new; Shaun and I grew up with the ratings game. Every family event was another chance for our parents to expand their audience and remind the world they were still relevant.

What made today stand out was parked in our house's driveway. It was a special day when the media came into a Level 7 hazard area like our neighborhoodfor a story that was barely a human interest piece. That was the drawing power of the Masons. That was something Shaun and I were determined to distance ourselves from now that we were old enough and had our Class A blogging licenses.

Shaun did all the talking when questions started coming in from the journalists wanting their sound bites. I was silent as I surveyed the small group from behind my dark sunglasses. Shaun was always better at public appearances. I knew I had to work on it if wanted a shot at becoming an alpha blogger, but there would be plenty of time for that now that we could get out into the field on our own. Legally on our own, anyway.

Mom held onto my arm for a photo opportunity and didn't let go until, appetite finally satisfied, the last of the camera crews shut down their equipment and left. "Really, Georgia, you'll have to do better than that."

"And steal my thunder?" Shaun interrupted. He was leaning against the van, his nose pressed against the glass of the passenger side window. "My ratings have been down since that little incident at the country club. Thanks, George."

Shaun's claim was only partially true. Despite the argument that was bound to ensue when I corrected him, I was ready to take on Mom. Dad didn't give me the chance. "Don't smudge the window, Shaun. That was only cleaned last night."

"We'll get it dirty soon enough," Shaun said with a grin. I could tell he was ready to drive to Texas simply to see if the zombies there still wore big hats. Any excuse to get away, to get off on our own. But we couldn't, not yet. There was too much work to do first. The van was in excellent condition and, as Dad had said, was a perfect set-up for bloggers with a Class A license making their way up the journalistic ladder.

Mom had seen to that. As one of the world's foremost Irwins, she knew what her children would need to survive almost any hazard zone. That was the problem. Buffy was good, she wouldn't be the rest of our team if she wasn't, but it would take time to strip the bugs and hidden systems Mom had no doubt installed to eavesdrop on us. For our own protection, of course.

"That's what I like to hear." Mom preened. She knew she could get another story or two out of our escapades thanks to her gift. "Dinner will be ready at six."

"We'll let you get acquainted," Dad agreed and headed for the front entrance. Mom went in through the garage, leaving Shaun and I alone with our new van.

The moment they were gone, Shaun leapt into the air and let out a whoop of joy.

"Hold that thought," I said and dialled Buffy's number.

"I saw the broadcast!" Buffy said through my earpiece before I even had a chance to say hello. "We're going to need some real upgrades. I'll get working on a requisition list as soon as I've posted my next chapter."

"You'll need to find the backdoors that were installed with the main systems. There have to be a few."

"On it. This is so exciting!" Buffy was almost squeaking with excitement on the other end. "When are you taking her out?"

"Now!"

"Once it's sturdy," I corrected Shaun, turning my attention back to Buffy. "How long do you think it will take?"

"I'll be ready to start in the morning, but I won't know for sure until I see it for myself. Three days for the minimum set-up."

"We'll pick you up at eight. I'll be on later to upload the footage I took."

"Have fun!" The connection ended.

Before Shaun could protest, and I knew that he had excellent reasons to want to take the van out for a drive right now, I held up a finger. "I want a proper test. If we're going to rely on this thing to take us further than we've ever gone – " he was about to correct me, but I saved him the trouble "- than we've ever gone together and if we want more regular stories from the field, I want to know it can keep us alive."

That kept Shaun on board. "I couldn't agree more. I know just the place. But we shouldn't wait until it's all prettied up. Basics only."

I nodded in agreement. If we could stay alive without all the bells and whistles, when everything but the basics broke down (and in a bad situation they would), we would know we could rely on the van. "In three days," I said, going off Buffy's estimate. "We'll see if it keeps us alive."

"And if it doesn't," Shaun shrugged, "at least we won't have to eat Mom's special Sunday dinner."

Sometimes death didn't seem so bad.

That's what I'd been thinking at the time, before Shaun convinced me to take the van for a ride. Now, as Shaun slept through our ‘see if the van keeps us alive overnight' test and I stared into the dark, I wasn't so light-hearted about dying. Shaun knew how to handle our parents, using the same casualness he employed when keeping a moaning zombie at arm's length with a hockey stick, but I was still honing that skill. There was only one reason I'd posed for the photos and suffered our parents' attempt at a ratings boost that day was the van. It was our freedom, it was opportunity to further our careers and to shape our lives outside our parents' influence.  
A particularly jolting thud rocked the van. I sat up, steadying myself with both hands. An unfinished can of Coke knocked into the remnants of Shaun's dinner and both splattered across the floor. I turned on the lights specially designed not to hurt my eyes and Shaun finally sat up, yawning and observing the mess. "That's never going to come out."

"Not without industrial cleaners," I agreed.

"It adds character," Shaun decided, "and I did say we'd get the van dirty soon."

"You didn't say anything about the smell," I remarked and moved to clean it up.

"I can do that." The half-heartedness of his offer was self-evident.

"Go back to sleep. I'm going to check on the site after this anyway. The sun will be up in another hour. We'll head home then."

"Can I drive?" Shaun slurred. He was already falling asleep.

"Over my dead body."

***

I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah," I agreed with Georgia. "Over your dead body. I have to drive all the time now."

"You'll excuse me if I don't feel sorry for you," George said with her usual dryness.

Except Georgia wasn't here anymore. Even when I talked to her on nights like this and listened to her read out blog entries, she wasn't really here. I blew her brains out. I did and can admit it. There were parts of gray matter all over the wall of that van belonging to Georgia Mason. I wasn't the one who killed her, but I sure as hell made sure that she stayed dead. Tate killed her with a hypodermic dart full of the virus that made our happy little world the way it was. I blew his brains out too, after he turned himself into a walking outbreak. I know that there's a good chance I'll have to shoot a few more people before George's final story is fully unraveled and released to the world. It's a work in progress. In the meantime, I listen to George talk on nights like this. I don't even know for sure if she wrote those blog entries or if it's the way I imagine she remembered times like when we got the van that she died in.

"Hey George," I called. She didn't reply, but I knew she was listening. "Our eighteenth and the van were pretty good," I admitted, "but remember our twenty-first?"


End file.
